


To Be Alone With You

by academic_ace



Category: La Chanson de Roland | The Song of Roland, Matter of France | Carolingian Cycle
Genre: Homoeroticism, M/M, kind of sort of canon-compliant, unfortunately period-typical islamophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 11:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13588791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/academic_ace/pseuds/academic_ace
Summary: They both know this isn't going to go well. But at least they have each other.(A short reflective piece set immediately before The Battle) (you know the one)





	To Be Alone With You

It was late. Oliver knew he should have been sleeping, new that if they survived this battle, if they weren’t completely overwhelmed by the Paynims, there would still be the aftermath; they would still have to face the rest of their lives. As earnestly as he prayed for victory, he could not escape the dread.

He found Roland on a hill set slightly apart from the camp, polishing Durendal, as he’d expected. Though it was dark now, the blade glinted under the starlight.

“What’s troubling you?” Oliver asked as he approached.

Roland exhaled, and paused his work. “Alda.”

“Oh.”

“If we return victorious, we will be married. It is a certainty now.”

“I had expected as much,” Oliver answered neutrally. “She will make a most comely bride.”  


Roland chuckled. “That must be the first time I’ve ever heard you speak about a woman in such a manner.”  


“I suppose it is only right that this be a time of miracles.”  


“God is with us,” Roland stated. “Under the banner of His servant Charles, France will conquer Paynim Spain.”  


“There’s no one else around to hear you,” Oliver reminded him, “and I am no serf called from the farm to serve.”  


“Then what are you?” Roland murmured, sheathing his sword and stepping towards the man.  


“Yours,” Oliver replied, and he meant it, just as much he always had.  


Roland took Oliver’s hand gently in his and rubbed a few circles with his thumb before disengaging and clasping his arm across Roland’s shoulder.  


“Come; we should at least _try_ to sleep before the battle.”  


“Don’t act as though _you_ were shepherding _me_. You would have been out here all night had I not come to get you,” Oliver chided.  


“Perhaps,” Roland acknowledged, “but I would have had reason enough to come back.”  


He kissed Oliver on the temple as they walked back to the camp, and Oliver returned the favor.  


“You’re ready,” Oliver assured him. “We’re ready. For...whatever tomorrow holds. We’ve come this far, after all.”  


Roland smiled wistfully. “We have, haven’t we? You know, I couldn’t have done it without you, my dear friend.”  


“Nor I without you, my love.”  


“Oh, that isn’t true.”  


“Perhaps. But I wouldn’t have as strong a reason to keep fighting.”  


Even in the darkness Oliver knew Roland was blushing. Oliver supposed he probably was too. There was something so frightening, so exhilarating, about expressing his feelings so openly. But it needed to be said, or at least, Oliver thought, it ought to. This was very likely his last chance to say...anything.  


There could be so much more ahead of them. There could be so much life. But there was Alda, and this God-forsaken war. There would always be another battle. They would always do their duty.  


_Lord, give me the strength to face this at his side._

It was worth it. It was all worth it. It had to be. Oliver supposed he was lucky to have survived as much as he had with Roland. To have had at least _this_ with him. Death would come for all of them sooner or later, after all.  


“It does no good to mourn those who are still living,” the Archbishop had told him once.  


So Oliver would persevere, and save Spain and France from the Paynims, and he would do it at Roland’s side. And they would be great heroes, greater than they already were. They were already telling stories about Roland, after all, and whenever he was within earshot, Roland was always quick to mention Oliver’s help, or his strategy, or his support.  


_Roland and his friend Oliver_ , he supposed they’d say, _the mighty Roland and his faithful companion Oliver_.  


There were certainly worse ways to be remembered.

**Author's Note:**

> I 100% legitimately submitted this for a grade in a university course on paganism and Christianity. And yes, the title is a Sufjan Stevens song. There's only so much I can do.


End file.
